


Mirror

by clawstoagunfight



Series: Worth 1000 Words [2]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Bathroom Sex, Ficlet, M/M, Smut, mirror kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-02
Updated: 2013-02-02
Packaged: 2017-11-27 22:54:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/667382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clawstoagunfight/pseuds/clawstoagunfight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek fucks Stiles in front of a mirror.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mirror

**Author's Note:**

> Un beta'd so all of the mistakes are mine.
> 
> This is a 1000 word prompt based off of the title word.

All Stiles can see is their reflections in the mirror, their naked bodies echoed in the trick space through the glassy surface. All he can do is watch their doppelgangers move together. He grips the vanity counter a little bit tighter when Derek presses a hand hard against his back and bucks his hips sharply, thrusting inside of him. Stiles loves this, loves the initial stretch and ache of something living and pulsing and hard working its way inside of his flesh, parting him, opening him up to receive pleasure in hard, deep thrusts that leave him begging, wanting, throbbing for more. Derek grabs Stiles’ hips, gripping them like a vice, using them for leverage as he works deeper inside of him, all slick, hot skin against slick, hot skin. Stiles shivers, arches his back, drops his stomach onto the cool stone counter.

Like this, he can see them in the mirror in front of him, Derek behind him, a flush spreading over his sweat-slicked torso, muscles straining in his arms and shoulder as his grip tightens on Stiles’ and his body moves forward in a smooth, blissful cadence that makes Stiles’ breath pant out as sharp spikes of pleasure rocket up his spine. He watches as Derek throws his head back, the thick, pale line of his neck straining as he lets out a ragged moan that echoes off of the tiled bathroom walls. The vibrations zing along Stiles’ nerve endings like a coarse caress, goose bumps breaking out along his skin.

Stiles closes his eyes, soaking in the wet sounds of their bodies moving against each other, the slick sounds of Derek driving in and out of his body. Derek’s hands move then, fingertips trailing up Stiles’ sides, over the lean muscles that rest beneath the surface, over the smooth skin of his shoulders, dragging his blunt nails down over Stiles’ back, over the swell of his ass. Stiles feels the soft edge of the pain, but it mingles with the fire Derek’s deep strokes ignite inside of him with every stroke of his cock against his prostate, rubbing and pressing over it until Stiles is shaking and shuddering with pleasure.

Stiles moans, deep and loud into the room. He feels Derek’s hands leave his skin then, the only place their flesh is still touching is where Derek is still intimately arranged inside of him. Derek fists a hand in Stiles’ hair, grabbing and pulling hard until his neck is pulled to a painful angle and he is staring into his own eyes in the mirror from mere inches away.

Stiles is panting, his breath coming out in hot spurts that fog up the glass, but he sees Derek’s reflection, all pale skin and eyes that stare into Stiles’ with a fervor that leaves him feeling breathless. The hand in his hair tightens for a moment and it’s almost too painful, but then Derek’s mouth is opening.

“No. No, don’t close your eyes.” Derek sounds desperate, needy, and it sends a shiver down Stiles’ spine. The grip on his hair loosens slightly, “I want you to watch while I fuck you. Want you to see what you look like,” the words are punctuated with a deep, slow stroke that hits over Stiles’ prostate and he moans, clenches the muscles of his ass around Derek’s cock until he can all but feel it jerk and throb inside of him. “Look at yourself.” The hand leaves his hair and both palms go back to holding his hips, digging into the fingertip bruises that are already starting to bloom. “See what I see when I look at you.”

And Stiles does. He looks into the mirror, watches the flush in his cheeks spread down, over his neck, his chest. He watches the small drops of sweat follow the path, delicate drops that leave damp streaks on his skin and run over the curves and edges of his form. He looks into his own eyes, sees the long, dark eyelashes clumped together, framing eyes just as dark, more pupil than color, a deep contrast to the spread of rose on his skin. He watches his own mouth, all pink and open, licks against his parted lips as he pants out breath after breath as Derek fucks into him again and again.

Derek changes the angle, slams Stiles’ prostate once more, and Stiles can do nothing but fight the urge to let his eyes flutter closed and watches his face. The pleasure passes over it like a wave, spreading down his body until he feels it in his toes. He watches the way his pupils dilate, the way his mouth opens as he throws his head back, watches his nostrils flare and his eyelids flutter. He bites his lip to hold in a moan, but it escapes anyway. He hears the sound like a whisper, like something made more intimate by the proximity to the mirror, as if he is only inches away from some other being, someone made for this, molded just for Derek, for the way their bodies fit together. In the mirror, he is a wanton creature, ruled by nothing but the sensations that grip his body.

He has a fleeting thought that this isn’t him—can’t be—but then Derek is working at his neglected cock and Stiles watches himself writhe and shudder as he cums, hard and hot against the counter beneath him. He watches himself, watches the clench of his taut muscles, watches as he rakes his nails against the counter, grappling for purchase as Derek’s thrusts become more and more erratic until Stiles feels his body go rigid behind him, feels the cock inside of him twitch. Stiles flicks his eyes to Derek then, watches as the orgasm overtakes him.

He watches until Derek’s muscles go lax and he is all but collapsing onto Stiles back, resting his head in the crook of Stiles’ neck. Their eyes meet in the mirror, gazes rapt on their reflections.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, any and all comments and/or criticisms are accepted and appreciated!
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
